


The Things I Never Told You

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Mirrors(2008)
Genre: Anal, Angst, Exhibitionism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the explosion at the Mayflower, Ben Carson's friends and family are left to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Mayflower

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Go Go Gadget One Woman Fandom! :D
> 
> Been working on this for a couple months, on and off, because I wanted to write Mirrors fic that actually addressed the events that happened in canon and was more than just the characters in a relationship. Big thanks to everyone on LJ who gave feedback on various ideas and gave their support for the porn. XD
> 
> Ben Carson and Larry Byrne are portrayed in the movie by the amazing Kiefer Sutherland and the ever talented, completely under-appreciated Jason Flemyng.

Phone calls at four am were for young men. Young men with adoring lovers, with bright futures, with friends and parties. Daredevil, reckless young men with crazy dreams. The kind of man I was not, and had not been for a very long time.

When I looked in the mirror, I wondered sometimes what happened, to replace the eager young man with what I saw in front of me. I was every bit the stereotype of grizzled old cop, right down to the ever present cup of coffee. The lone wolf, living entirely for my work, a stark contrast to the happily married best friend. I'd thought, once, that it was a bit like something out of Film Noir, minus the entrance of a sultry bombshell.

Well. It had been.

My partner hadn't been my partner for some time, not since he'd gotten married. I'd distanced myself from him then, using work as an excuse, and I knew it had hurt him. Ben Carson and I had been friends since the academy, and pulled each other through more hardships than I could count - the death of his father, my mother's cancer, the accidental death of a classmate who'd been my lover, numerous bad breakups. But what he really needed, or so I thought, was what he wanted - a family, a wife and children. So I stepped back and quietly removed myself from the picture, as much as I'd never wanted to.

Secretly, shamefully, I loved Ben more than anything in the world.

He never knew, of course. I couldn't have let him know, it would have crushed everything between us. Things were... complicated between Ben and I, and even years later I wasn't entirely sure how to define it. I'd been on the receiving end of what I'd first assumed were his sexual experimentations when we roomed together, but it had never been anything more than that. We'd seen other people like there was nothing between us and continued the casual sex - the incredibly hot, fulfilling casual sex - for years, up until he met his wife and got married, when I backed off. I'd had other long term relationships, when I was younger, but I'd never loved any of them as much as I loved Ben - possibly part of the reason things never worked out. Still, I'd needed his support and friendship far too much to chance losing him over something like the L word or asking him for a relationship that he obviously didn't want.

Looking back, distancing myself from Ben was my first mistake. There was an accident - an armed robbery he was caught in quite by coincidence, and of course he had to play the hero. Unfortunately, one of the men he shot was an undercover officer in the Organized Crime Bureau, and he died from his injuries. I could only watch from the sidelines as Ben's life fell apart as a result. I did what I could - everything I could, and more than I should - to clear his name and get him back on the force in good standing. But he couldn't handle that he'd taken an innocent life, couldn't endure the rumours and hate and his pretty wife's lack of faith in him. When he turned to vice to dull his pain, when she kicked him out of his own home, he disappeared from my life. He even stopped returning my calls, and if it hadn't been for the occasional contact with his sister Angie I wouldn't have had any way of knowing if he was even alive or dead.

I never stopped fighting to get him reinstated. I knew he'd pull himself together, and he did, pushing aside the alcoholism with the goal to fix his broken family. I couldn't give him good news when it came to his job, but I hooked him up with a temporary one, as a night watchman for a burnt out old department store downtown.

Hindsight is perfect. I'd give anything to change that now.

Days after starting the job, his sister was murdered, and he started asking me for things - background checks, paperwork, old records. Strange things. I knew he was looking for Angie's killer the same as I was, so all though I couldn't give him any information on the case, I got him what he asked for, and quietly kept copies of the information for myself.

This is what lead to my four am wake up call.

I groped blindly for my blackberry on the table beside my futon. "Larry Byrne."

"Larry? It's Alice." One of dispatchers and a woman I knew fairly well, who didn't normally work nights. "We just had a call come in that I thought you should know about."

I stared blurredly at the neon blue letters of my alarm clock. "Can't wait until morning?"

"Larry..." I heard the hesitation, the worry in her voice, and woke up a little more.

"What's wrong?"

"There's been an explosion at the Mayflower downtown," she said softly. "That's where Ben was working, wasn't it?" She knew Ben - most of the dispatchers did. A lot of people in the force did, though most of that had to do with being the son of a former chief of police. On a human level, though, he was the model officer, and always kind. At the end of the day, that's how she remembered him.

"Fuck." I was on my feet in an instant, hitting the bedroom light and pulling clothes from my closet with the phone wedged between my ear and my shoulder. "Did they send out fire and ESU? Medical?"

"Of course. Should I let them know you're on your way?"

"Please," I replied, and thanked her, grabbing a slightly overripe banana off my counter as I ran out the door.

A thousand thoughts went through my head as I drove to the Mayflower, navigating the city roads a little faster than was strictly legal, thankful that the early hour kept most cars off the streets. The idea that something might have happened to Ben terrified me. How big was the explosion? Was he caught in it, did he trigger it? Did it damage the building? Was he trapped somewhere, dying? God, it couldn't be possible. After everything that had happened to him, everything he'd lost - his career, his family, his self confidence, and now Angie - fate couldn't go this far, could it?

Dawn was just tinting the sky when I arrived, and I parked safely outside the plywood walls that barricaded off the property and ran through the service entrance that had been opened up by emergency crews. I recognized his car, parked haphazardly by the entrance, the rear view mirror inside still broken clean off. It didn't make me feel any better.

The building was a monument, a magnificent skeleton of concrete and stone. It seemed fully in tact apart from the blown-out windows, despite the soot-streaked exterior from fire that I knew had ravaged it years earlier. I could see flames flickering through a few of the windows beyond the streams of water from the fire hoses, and I slowed to a halt, staring at the organized chaos of firefighters and rescue workers. One of the uniformed officers approached me, and I flashed him my badge, well visible in the lights from the trailer and the vehicle headlights that illuminated the area. "There's a night watchman on duty here. Has he been accounted for?"

"Not yet," he replied, and I felt my heart sink. "Why is CSU here, detective....?"

"Captain Byrne," I corrected him, and ignored his question. "Who's in charge here?"

"Sergeant Margaredi with ESU," he replied automatically. "He's trying to get the utilities shut off for this place so we can figure out if it's safe for us to go in. From what we've been able to determine, the blast took out a good portion of the inner structure, but the good news is that the outer building seems stable. This place was built like a rock."

"Good news," I echoed numbly. I looked up as a familiar face came out of the security trailer, clad in an Emergency Services Unit jumpsuit and helmet with a light strapped to it. He crossed the lot at a jog to talk to the firemen, then returned to the officers, slowing and squinting slightly at me.

"Larry? What the hell are you doing here?"

I remembered him then, from the academy. "Lorenzo. There's a night watchman on duty here, is he accounted for?"

"Shit." He frowned. "We haven't been able to get a hold of the owners, we had no way to find out if there was anyone on the premises. Greenly - get on the radio and get a canine unit down here for recovery. We've turned off the gas lines, once the fire department okays the structural integrity we'll go in." Then he looked back to me. "Mind telling me why the hell CSU is here?"

I glanced down. "We're not. I'm here on my own. You remember Ben Carson?"

"Yeah, yeah. Your roomie from the academy. I heard what happened with the suspension and his wife, that's real tough luck. What's that got to do with this?"

"He's the night watchman," I replied grimly.

He took this in, his expression darkening a little. "I'm not gonna lie to you Larry, this situation ain't good. The damage inside is extensive, and the gas lines caused quite the inferno. Unless through some stroke of fate he skipped out on work - have you called his home to find out where he is?"

I nodded, feeling the knot of fear in the base of my stomach clench painfully tight. "Yeah, on my way here. There's no one there, but his sister died the other day. He's been staying at her place alone. Cell goes straight to voice mail."

He gave a slow nod and stepped closer to me. "Look, Larry... you can't be here. They're gonna treat this as a building collapse - "

"Don't give me that. I know ESU procedure, I've done collapse rescue before. Let me help."

"I can't let someone from outside the department, let alone a captain - "

"Lorenzo, please - I can't just stand here and do nothing. Don't make me beg."

Lorenzo frowned, but gave a sharp nod. "No heroics though. No digging, you help with the void search only. You get hurt and it's my ass on the line, so we do this by the book. There's extra equip in the van, go suit up."

By the time the blaze was out and the firefighters had done the initial sweep of the building, the sun was beginning to peek between the buildings of downtown New York. It would help the search, but it did nothing to push away the fear that was eating me up inside. When we got inside, I could see the reason for the delay, and my heart sank. The grand entranceway and the front part of the building was intact, but the back half of the first floor had collapsed into the basement of the building, partition walls and all. Without the support, the second floor had crumbled as well, a good portion of it still hanging precariously over the void.

"Jesus," I whispered, and Lorenzo glanced at me before pushing past. I followed to where they'd found an intact staircase down, the bottom disappearing into a good two feet of water. Lorenzo barked orders to the other men who scattered in pairs, then grabbed me by the arm.

"You're with me and Greenly, stay close. Don't try to shift anything."

I nodded, and tried to focus on the mechanics of a void search - identify pockets, places where falling walls and floors and rubble could tent against partition walls and create pockets where someone could be. Search them with the high powered beam of the flashlight we had on our helmets, which would even illuminate under the water, or by calling out. It was slow going, made more treacherous by the water and the tangle of broken pipes in the rubble.

Then, as we passed a collapsed tile wall, I caught sight of movement in the water out of the corner of my eye. Something white. I reached down to snag it from the water, unfolding the crumpled piece of cardstock to find a photo of a woman with two children who had dark hair and their father's smile. Ben's family.

"Lorenzo!" I called out to the Sergeant, shoving the photo in my pocket before grabbing a piece of the rubble and hauling it away from the collapsed wall. "I found a photo of his floating in the water. He has to be nearby. Ben? Ben?!" Adrenaline rushed through my veins, blocking out Lorenzo's words, his protests until I found myself yanked away from the rubble by strong arms, holding me back - Lorenzo and Greenly.

"I told you no moving anything," he barked, grip tight on my elbow. "I know this is personal, but I can't risk your safety in an attempt to recover someone who's likely already dead!"

The words hit me like a slap to the face, and I felt myself falter in their grip, knees giving out for a second before they hauled me back to my feet. "He's not dead," I said, but heard the quaver and break in my voice. "Lorenzo, he's not. I'd know. He's not dead."

The dog with the canine unit started barking then, and I heard one of the men call out to us. "Sergeant? We found something over here."

Lorenzo's hand tightened on my arm. "Don't run. We go carefully, or not at all."

By the time we'd picked out way through the rubble, they'd pulled away a lot of the debris. I could see the body - charred and mangled, and my heart sank.

One of the firemen looked up. "This victim's female. Sixty to eighty years of age from what we can tell."

Lorenzo turned to me sharply. "You know anything about this?"

I shook my head. What would Ben have been doing with an old woman here? "No, I don't. But it means Ben's still unaccounted for." But if she was this badly burnt, then... god, what kind of shape would he be in?

"All right," Lorenzo called out. "Still one victim unaccounted for. Let's get back to work."

I worked for hours. The void search turned up nothing, but Lorenzo didn't protest when I slipped in beside the others to begin digging, shifting rubble until I was covered in dust and mud and soot, until my entire body ached from the strain. Then, as it was nearing 9am, a piece of the second floor broke free, falling with a deafening crash and narrowly missing a pair of rescue workers. I heard the fire chief whistle the signal to clear the premises and found Lorenzo at my elbow.

"Larry, We gotta go. We're not going to find him."

I felt a shudder of despair and shook my head. "I'm not leaving. I can't give up yet."

"Look, the canine unit hasn't found a hint that there's another person - "

"There's too much water down here for the dog to be effective, you know that. He could still be trapped, he could still be alive - "

The look in his eyes was pitying, and he shook his head. "Come on, Larry. I don't want to have to pull you out of here by force... and someone's gotta go tell his family."

Numbly, I let him lead me out of the building, past where they were loading the body of the woman into the ambulance. I stripped out of the borrowed coveralls and work boots and started out to my car, almost running into the astonished daytime security guard. His brother was an acquaintance, and the reason I'd recommended this fucking job to Ben in the first place. I couldn't bring myself to say anything to him, though, and left dealing with him to the officers inside.

When I reached my car, I sat behind the wheel and stared blankly at it for a long moment. Bad enough that I'd made the call to Amy Carson about Angie's death... now I had to go tell her... tell my godchildren....

Oh, God.

I was numb as I made the drive to the Carson residence, the events of the morning playing over and over in my mind. I was numb as I parked, as I walked up the front steps and rang the bell. My mind registered the strange appearance of newspapers taped over the windows, but my thoughts were on Ben. I rang the doorbell again, and began to worry. I glanced over my shoulder to check that Amy's car was still parked on the street, the fished my keys from my pocket, finding the spare one for the house and letting myself in.

For a moment I stood in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of me. The floor of the house was covered in water, and every painting and mirror that adorned the walls had been covered by green paint - most of which looked to have been then scraped off. I reached for the gun I wasn't carrying subconsciously as I took a few cautious steps inside, water sloshing against my sneakers. "Is there anyone here?"

I heard a door open upstairs, and a tentative voice. Amy. "... Larry? Is that you?"

I took the stairs two at a time, stopping at the top as she stepped out of the master bedroom, still holding the door partly closed behind her. She looked bedraggled and worn, her dark hair damp and drying in a mess of frizz, her eyes red and puffy from crying. For a moment we just stood there, taking each other in - I likely didn't look much better. Had she already heard? The news would be covering something like this, wouldn't it? But from the look of the house, I wasn't sure she'd been in a state to watch the news.

I spotted Michael trying to peek around her leg, and swallowed hard. "Amy, I need to talk to you. Alone."

She nodded, turning to her son. "Go take care of Daisy, okay baby? I'll be right back. It'll be okay." He nodded mutely, and she closed the door, crossing the landing to me, her voice low. "Something happened, didn't it? Something with Anna Esseker? That's why he hasn't come back."

I stared at her, feeling my lips part at the name. The dead girl from the psych hospital? He'd told her about that? "Amy... what was he doing? What's going on?"

Her eyes glanced around the house wearily, and she shook her head. "He was trying to protect us. The rest doesn't matter now. Larry..." she took a deep breath, as if steeling herself against an answer she already knew. "Where is he?"

I couldn't look at her. I dropped my head with a shudder, and focused on my waterlogged sneakers. "There was an explosion at the Mayflower. We've recovered the body of an old woman from the wreckage, but we... they've called off the search for Ben." I stopped looking. I couldn't find him, I couldn't save him... I swallowed hard against a wave of despair. "It's almost certain that he couldn't have survived."

I heard a soft sob, but I couldn't move, couldn't say anything more. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, burying her face in my shoulder and breaking down completely. I froze, but only momentarily. Then I slipped my arms around her waist and drew her closer, resting my cheek against damp hair and letting out emotion in a shuddering sigh. As much as I had envied Amy Carson in the past - at times resented her, and at the end downright hated her for what she did to Ben, I couldn't bring myself to push her away now, not when we both had lost so much.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, choking on my words, and felt tears escape the eyes I'd clenched shut. "God, I'm so sorry." It wasn't an apology to her, when I owed her nothing. It was just an acknowledgement of pain shared, of everything that we'd lost. And perhaps, an apology to Ben, that I hadn't been able to do more, that I'd failed him.

When she finally drew away from me, I wiped my face with the back of my hand, which came away smeared with dust. "The department will send out the usual missing person enquiries to the hospitals and morgues, and we should get the final results from the - from the site clean up within 48 hours. There's going to be paperwork for you to fill out at the precinct later today... I can stick around and help, if you want."

"Would you?" She wrapped her arms around her upper body, looking more than a little lost. "I have to - I have to clean up this place now that it's safe and it's Rosa's day off, so there's no one to watch the children..."

"What are you going to tell them?" I asked, and she shook her head.

"I'll take care of it."

"Okay." I let a hand rest on her shoulder in a slightly awkward gesture of comfort. "I'm going to call a few people in the area, old friends. Don't worry about the house, we'll get everything cleaned up.

~~~

Later that afternoon I was left alone in the house with the children, who sat together in Michael's room, quiet and subdued. I couldn't bring myself to sit idle, and set to scraping off the paint on the mirrors with a paint scraper I'd borrowed from one of the guys earlier, partly as an excuse to keep an eye on them. Flecks of green paint fell around me and I'd have to vacuum it later, but for now it was strangely therapeutic, scraping at the paint and slowly uncovering the smooth glass underneath. The children were talking in soft voices behind me, not audible over the scraping of the paint until Michael raised his voice.

"That's not what it means! He's not dead, I saw him, he's not!"

"Hey..." I turned and moved back to them, crouching down by where Daisy had sat on the floor by Michael's bed. "What's this about, guys?"

"Nothing," Daisy said with a frown, but Michael leaned out from the bed to wrap his arms around my bicep, burying his face in my shoulder.

"Uncle Larry, Mommy says Daddy's not coming home, and Daisy says that means he's dead like grandpa. But it's not true, I saw him under the water!"

"Under the water?" I repeated a little dumbly, and he nodded.

"He caught me and he pushed me back up to Mommy, just out there in the hallway. But why didn't he come back? Daddy always comes back. He wouldn't leave us, would he?"

I sighed, and shifted to perch on the edge of the bed, watching Daisy as Michael climbed into my lap and buried his face in my chest. "Sometimes things happen that we can't control. Sometimes the people we love can't come back to us, no matter how much they want to, or we want them to."

"But what if he's stuck behind the mirror like all those people- "

"Michael!" Daisy said sharply, but I shook my head.

"Tell me about the people in the mirror," I said gently, partly to humor him, but more because I wanted to hear what he had to say. Amy had offered no explanation as to why I'd found her house flooded with all the mirrors - every reflective surface, really - painted over, but why? And why had Ben been researching the mental hospital in connection with Angie's death?

Daisy frowned and sat down on the bed beside us, crossing her arms across her chest. "The things in the mirror tried to kill us."

"Not all of them!" Michael shot back. "Just the bad ones. There was nice ones too. There was a little boy that would play with me."

"Yeah, but one of them took over Mommy's reflection and tried to stab me with some scissors." The story that came out between the two of them - half of it arguing with each other - was fantastical enough that any other time I would have passed it off as a child's game. But my mind was too used to looking for connections, to solving riddles, and I couldn't shake the idea that as crazy as the story was, it made a strange kind of sense. I knew Ben, knew that he would have done anything to protect his family. The fact that him and Amy had both believed that there were some kind of supernatural beings in the mirrors, and believed it strongly enough to do this to their entire house... it was hard to write that off as nothing.

I realized the children were watching me expectantly, and I forced a smile. "It's been a really long day, hasn't it? You guys think I should order pizza for dinner?"

I saw a smile start on Daisy's face, though she fought to hold it back. "Mommy says pizza makes you fat."

"Not on Saturdays," I replied, and stood, setting Michael down. "Come on, come downstairs and help me choose what kind, okay?"

As we left the room, I noticed I'd left a hand print on the mirror, and made a note to bring glass cleaner upstairs with me to clean it off when I was done with the paint. When I returned, however, it had disappeared, and I wondered if I'd really seen it in the first place.

~~~~~


	2. Bereavement

The weeks after the Mayflower explosion were long and trying. In the absence of being able to get directly involved with the investigation into the explosion, I used Angie Carson's case as a focus, and reopened the Gary Lewis case as a possible homicide. I'd go into the office early in the day and stay well into the night, pouring my time into trying to find out what had happened. I scoured our records for any murder or suicide involving mirrors, and the more I looked, the more I found. When I finally managed to get my hands on the employment records for the Mayflower, I could confirm that every single person to hold the night watchman post had come to an untimely end - usually drowned or cut up, and their families with them. How could something like this happen? How did no-one notice the connection?

Outside of the office, I kept at it. I'd recovered the records I'd given to Ben from Angie's apartment, along with more papers that he'd had on the Mayflower fire, along with records and newspaper clippings. They were spread out all over my coffee table, pinned to the wall in my living room as the murder case records and photos were pinned to the walls of my office. People had started talking at work, I knew. Talking about the fact that my office looked like a mini crime lab, that I was stretching myself to work this case on my own over and above my duties to the department. I was running myself ragged, running on coffee late into the night every night compiling data, similarities. Looking for clues. Looking for an explanation. Dead or alive, I needed to know what had happened to Ben... and most of all, why they'd never recovered a body.

A month after his disappearance, we held a funeral service. It angered me that Amy had given up so easily. She needed closure, she told me. She needed to be free to mourn. She'd always given up on him far more easily than I, after all. I went to the service, and tried to ignore the man at her side, a coworker that stood closer to her than strictly necessary. Instead I held Michael in my arms, let him cling to me as I watched them lower the empty casket into the ground. It didn't mean anything to me like it did to her, it didn't give me any sense of closure. If anything, it made me work harder, search harder, sleep less. This wasn't the end of things, I was sure of it.

I shouldn't have been surprised when I was called into the Deputy Inspector's office one Thursday afternoon. We had a good working relationship, he and I. I kept a tight team, and he let me have free reign to take care of my people as I saw fit. He looked up from his desk with a sigh as I appeared at his door.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

He nodded. "Come in, Larry. Shut the door, have a seat."

I did so, a little worried at the tired, resigned look on his face. "Something the matter, sir?"

He frowned a little, leaning on his arms on his desk. "I'm not going to mince words, Larry. I'm also not going to accept working yourself to death as a form of suicide."

The words shook me. "Sir, I haven't been - "

"Everyone can see it, Larry, and your team is worried. Even before I pulled the swipe card logs in and out of the office I could tell that you were running yourself ragged just by looking at you." He stopped, and sighed. "Look, I know the Mayflower incident has been hard on you. For my part, I'm sorry I didn't push harder to get him reinstated after he got cleared. He was a good man and a good cop. But you working yourself to death isn't going to bring back Ben Carson."

I glanced away, feeling my eyes sting from emotion, and blinked hard. "I'll be okay."

"Yeah, you will. But you're going to take some time off."

My head jerked back to meet his gaze. "Oh no. Sir, the department needs me - "

"CSU will survive, I can pile your paperwork on a couple others and have Captain Jaimerson keep an eye on your crew. You need to take some time and put yourself back together, Larry. Now, I'll give you a choice. You can either take an immediate two weeks paid bereavement..."

"Or?" I asked weakly.

"Or it'll be two weeks paid suspension, with mandatory trauma counselling."

I closed my eyes for a moment. The thought of two weeks without work to focus on filled me with dread. And yet, I'd still have some access to police records and resources. I could take the records and photos in my office home with me....

"I'll take the bereavement," I said, my voice hoarse, and signed the paperwork he passed to me.

 

I had a few hours before the end of the work day, and started to put my things in order, packing up the material that I'd pinned up inside my office in bits and pieces. About an hour later I heard a soft knock at my open office door, and when I glanced up, Alice was standing there. "Hey... can I come in?"

I set down my pen and sat up straight, stretching a little and feeling the vertebrae in my lower back pop. "Yeah. Just trying to finish up a few things before I head out... they've put me on a mandatory two week vacation."

"I know," she replied with a slightly bemused smile. "News travels fast. Don't take it too hard, Larry. They're just concerned about you, that's all. Work can survive without you for a little while."

"We'll have to see if I can survive without work," I joked, forcing a half smile, and she shook her head.

"Take some time for yourself. You've gotta have a hobby or two." The sad thing was, I didn't. I'd thrown myself into my work for the past few years as a substitute for not having anyone in my personal life. And before that....

My mind returned, unbidden, to old times. To times before Amy - living with Ben, hanging out with Ben, watching and playing hockey, going to bars... loving Ben, making love.... I shook my head. "Afraid my hobbies are work and more work."

Something of my reminiscence must have shown in my expression, because she moved forward to stand by my desk, leaning on one hand that held to the edge. "You have anybody to talk to, Larry? You ever thought about seeing someone here?"

I glanced away with a soft, noiseless laugh. "That's not my style, you know that."

I saw her worry at her bottom lip out of the corner of my eye, silent for a moment. "Then maybe you should talk to Ben."

My eyes snapped back to her, looking for an explanation, and she gave a little sad smile. "It's obvious you're not ready to let go. Maybe there's unfinished business, maybe something you never told him. Talk it out, Larry. Say it to his photo if you need to. Get it off your chest so you can move on." She reached out to let her hand rest on top of mine on the desk, and I didn't pull it away.

"I can't explain it," I said slowly, "I just... I can't accept that he's dead. Maybe it's denial, maybe there's something wrong with me, but... I can't."

"Look... everyone goes through this. But at some point you have to accept things and move on. Use this time to do that, Larry. You know he wouldn't want you to let this keep hurting you. Don't you?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, and pulled my hand away from her. "... Yeah. Yeah, I know." She was silent for a moment, and I looked up to find her watching me, looking very much like she wanted to say something, and I quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Forgive me for asking this, but...."

I suddenly understood the look. "Then don't. Whatever you're thinking, don't."

Her eyebrows raised. "You... you did have something with him, didn't you?"

I pushed my chair back and stood, looking out the window into New York and folding my arms across my chest. "Don't be ridiculous. He was married. We were just room mates. Anyway, he's not my type." I didn't care whether or not she saw the lie for what it was, I didn't want to talk about it. I never could, but especially not now.

"All right, Larry. Didn't mean to upset you." I saw her claim a pen off my desk, writing a phone number on a post-it pad and sticking the note on my laptop. "Promise you'll call me if you need something, okay? We can do coffee or something?"

I smiled for real then, and nodded. "Thanks, Alice."

"I'm not just saying this. I mean it. You promise me."

"I promise," I replied, folding her number and putting it in my wallet. Finally satisfied, she let the office and left me alone to my thoughts.

It was strange, arriving home and knowing I wouldn't be returning to work the next day. Strange, and left me feeling a little hollow inside. Or maybe it was my thoughts from earlier. Despite myself, I kept returning to Alice's words. To move on. That Ben wouldn't want me to live like this. I stared blankly at the papers on my coffee table for a long time, but my mind wasn't on the case. Finally I gathered them up, setting them in a neat pile on the corner of the mirrored surface of the table. Then I went to the kitchen and free poured some Jack Daniels into a glass over ice, sipping it slowly and looking out into the city beyond my apartment.

Maybe Alice was right. Maybe it was just me not being able to let go.

I finished the drink in slow sips, staring out into the twilight. In all truth, Ben hadn't been a big part of my life for quite some time. I'd slowly eased my way out of his life after his marriage, and apart from being godfather to the children I hasn't had much contact with him outside of brief encounters at work. The handful of exceptions were times that I still had trouble admitting even to myself, when things first started getting rocky between him and Amy, a few years after Michael was born. He'd come over, we'd drink, watch the game... and shamefully, end up in bed. Was it just my own guilt that had me convinced that he wasn't dead, that kept me in this crazy investigation?

I stood at the kitchen window for some time after I'd finished the alcohol, feeling the whiskey warm my joints, calm my mind. Finally, I set the glass aside and went back to my living room, taking the photo off the mantle and sitting down on the couch with it, leaning over the coffee table with the frame in my hands. It was the same photo as I kept in my office at work... Ben and I in younger days. Happier times. I traced his form on the glass with my thumb and sighed.

"I'm sorry," I murmured softly, and as I heard the words leave my mouth, came to the reluctant conclusion that Alice was right. I closed my eyes for a moment, and let the anguish that was ever present in my heart become my focus. "I'm so sorry, Ben. There's so many things... god. I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me, even if you didn't ask for my help. I should have... I don't know. I should have have made you come stay here, I should have pushed harder to get you reinstated, I.... I shouldn't have pushed that fucking job on you. You'd still be... god, you'd still be here if it wasn't or me. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for that."

I set the photo down on the table and covered my face with my hands, raking them over my skin and through my hair. "I don't know if I can do it," I voiced, hearing my voice crack. "I don't know if I can let go. I know I have to, but I just... I loved you too much, Ben. I never told you, but you... you were the brightest point in my life the whole time I was with you, and I... I was so fucking in love with you. I loved you more than anything, and I don't know what to do now that you're gone." I let myself laugh, harsh and bitter, hearing my voice echo in the room. Fuck, what the hell was I doing?

I stared down at the photo in agony, at his face. "I don't know how to move on," I whispered brokenly, and pressed my hands together, index fingers against my lips, as if my admission was some kind of desperate prayer for guidance.

Then, as I stared at the photo, something pulled at my awareness, a kind of cold shiver that ran down my spine. Something was out of place, something that the forensics cop in me screamed at me to notice despite the blur of alcohol. Suddenly it came to me in a rush, a shock that made my stomach drop to the ground. My reflection was staring back at me... but its hands were resting on the glass, no where near a mirror image of my pose. And the expression on my face....

It was as if my reflection came to this shocked realization at the same time as I did, and I watched its lips part. Its hands beat against the glass, and it started to speak, though I heard no words.

I couldn't do anything but stare in mute horror as my reflection spoke again and again, looking more and more upset, pounding harder on the glass. Hearing Michael and Daisy talk about this was noting compared to the horror of seeing it, compared to....

"Ben?" I finally forced myself to whisper, and my reflection nodded frantically.

"I can't hear you," I whispered, and shook my head, pressing my hands to his on the glass. "Ben? Oh god. Oh god...."

His lips were forming the same thing over and over, I realized, his eyebrows knit, expression more lost and sorrowful than I'd ever seen myself. I stared, trying to match the form of his lips. Don't... don't....

"Don't give up," I understood suddenly, and my reflection gave a somehow weary, relieved nod. It seemed to fall forward a bit, as if staggering, and when I blinked, suddenly everything was completely normal again.

I sank back into the couch numbly, and realized my breath was coming in quick, sharp pants, my pulse racing like I'd run a marathon. But then, as I slowly caught my breath, as my heart began to calm, the most blissful sense of relief came over me. Don't give up. It really was as Michael had said. I hadn't been chasing a ghost. And with that relief, the agony of the past weeks broke away, and I began to feel... hope.

"I won't give up," I whispered, and closed my eyes.

That night my dreams were disjointed, and when I awoke the only thing that stayed with me were memories of a world of twisted glass with deformed reflections of myself staring at me, chasing me. I buried my face into my pillow and groaned. Maybe I was just loosing my mind.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror for a time, moving, examining myself from every angle. Nothing strange happened, nothing unexpected. Had I just imagined the night before? I shook my head, stripped down and got in the shower, letting the hot water sluice over my body as if it could wash away stress and worry and uncertainty. When I stepped out, however, I glanced at the mirror and slipped on the floor in shock, grabbing at the shower curtain to steady myself. I felt one of the rings pop off and cursed, but caught my balance, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around myself, still staring at the mirror, at the words written there in the steam.

'Here still. Not dead. - Ben.'

Well. Fuck.

It wasn't the last time Ben tried to talk to me. After a few days, I started to get used to seeing my reflection suddenly move independently. It became less disorienting, and my stomach stopped dropping down to my ankles every time I saw my reflection move on its own. Now my stomach just flipped a couple of times, and that wasn't entirely from fear. It was still Ben, somewhere in there. I could see it, now that I looked, in his mannerisms - the way he moved, the way he held myself. It was beyond strange, seeing those tells on my own form. But at the same time... it was strangely comforting.

Part of me still held to the opinion that I'd finally lost it. Suffered some nervous breakdown brought on by Ben's death, that I was hallucinating. But could any part of my mind have ever thought up something like this for me to hallucinate? Real or no, all of me agreed that the only thing to do was to see this through to the end. To find out what happened, and find some way to free Ben.

We learned to communicate, at first just with words drawn in the steam on the bathroom mirror. He could hear me without a problem, it seemed, but I couldn't hear him. I'd never wished for the skill of reading lips so much before in my life. We tried Morse code next, but it was a slow, cumbersome process, and though he could stay with me longer and longer as the days went by, it still wasn't an effective way to communicate.

Finally I bought a package of looseleaf from the dollar store on the corner, and pulled one of my mirrors off the wall, setting it up on my desk and angling it down to clearly show the surface of the paper. Then I sat down, pen in hand, and waited.

I felt the shiver run through me almost immediately, and in the mirror my hand moved, forming letters on the paper that didn't exist in real life. 'This works,' he wrote, backwards, but it was easy enough for me to read. Finally we could talk.

My questions poured out, almost too fast for him to reply. Where was he? What happened? Was he dead? But he didn't seem to know much more than I. His story matched Michael's - of falling into water, of pushing Michael towards the light, and then passing out. Waking up behind the mirrors, unable to be seen or heard, with no reflection of his own.

"You're safe, right? That thing that..." that killed your sister, I was about to say, and quickly corrected myself at the last minute. "That was haunting your family - what happened?"

'It's gone. Everything that was trapped here before escaped. I killed the demon in the real world. I'm alone here.'

I gave a sigh of relief despite myself. "Are you physical? You can touch things, right? Not like a ghost?"

'Yes,' My hand in the mirror wrote. 'I can move objects, drive cars. I still get tired and hungry, but I can eat the food here. And I'm still me, when I'm not... like this talking to you. It's more like the people around me are ghosts. You, too.'

"Then how are you controlling my reflection?"

For a long moment he was still, and I thought that perhaps he'd left, though I didn't feel it. Then he wrote again.

'It was an accident. I was trying to shake you. There was a kind of woosh, and then I -was- you. It was very tiring at first. It's easier now. I just kind of step into you.'

I nodded slowly, trying to take it all in. "But why were you here, Ben? Why are you watching me? There must be a hundred other, better places you could be - "

In the mirror, my reflection lifted his free hand - my left, his right - and cupped his face, running his fingers over it wearily and pinching the bridge of his nose. I could feel it, and I started, staring hard, but he didn't seem to notice.

'I have to go,' he wrote, and then I was only staring at my own reflection again.

I snapped pictures of the reflection of the notebook with my cell phone, but when I went to get the Polaroid and came back, the writing had vanished. I left the camera on the desk.

I couldn't help but think about it as I ate, staring at my reflection in everything - the utensils, the surface of the table, my glass. Finally I opened a bottle of red wine, and put away three glasses before forcing myself to re-cork it. I ignored my research for the night and tried to lose myself in the meaninglessness of prime time television, but my thoughts kept returning to Ben. Finally I went back to my office, hoping he'd be there.

I felt the shiver as soon as I entered, and saw my reflection cross the room to sit at the desk. I followed more sedately, sitting down and watching him. The wine made me more relaxed than I had been earlier, and it was somehow easier to deal with this, with watching him in my body, with watching him write.

'I'm sorry,' Wrote Ben-as-my-reflection, even before I'd picked up the pen. I didn't need to, it seemed, though I could feel the slight pressure of holding it in my fingers. 'I've been watching you for a long time, Larry. There's so much I want to say and I don't know how to. I can't stay with my family, it's not - Amy would be so frightened. The children don't need that. But I needed someone.'

"How long?" I managed to ask, and his gaze was sad.

'Weeks. Since before the funeral. I'm so sorry, Larry. I didn't think that things would ever be... like this. I didn't mean to behave inappropriately. To eavesdrop on you.' He stopped writing, and I glanced up to find him looking at me, lips parted slightly as if to say something. Then he glanced away, looking almost embarrassed, and I suddenly remembered all too clearly all the things that I'd said that night to his photo.

"I'm sorry," I forced myself to say, trying to ignore the ice cold fingers that had clenched around my stomach. "Oh fuck. I didn't - I didn't mean for you to find out like that. Fuck, I never meant for you to find out, it..." I swallowed fumbling for the words to explain myself, ignoring whatever he was writing. "Ben, you were my best friend for so long, and I needed that, I didn't want to fuck it up, I didn't want you to have to live with the pressure of knowing, I - "

He'd been casting frustrated glances at me, and finally threw down the pen, both hands pressed to the glass. His mouth clearly formed the word "Stop," several times over, until I shut up. Then he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, and turned his attention back to the paper. He'd written 'Stop' on it several times in big letters, so I pulled away the top sheet to give him a blank one underneath.

'I'm sorry,' He wrote again. 'I'm not angry. There's so much I want to say but I'm afraid I'll just make things worse for you. I just wish I'd known before.' He set down the pen and leaned back wearily, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, and I flinched at the sensation.

"I can feel that, you know."

His head jerked up, and he stared at me wide-eyed for a moment, lips moving slightly as if saying something to himself. Then he raised a hand to his cheek slowly, cupping it and stroking his fingers down his jaw almost curiously. It translated to an unintentionally tender caress on my skin, and I shivered despite myself, closing my eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I feel that too."

When I looked back up at him, he was watching me contemplatively. He leaned forward to pick up the pen again.

'I need to think about a few things. Maybe then I can tell you want I need to. Or show you. Goodnight, Larry.' And then he was gone again.

I stared at the page for a long moment, as if it would bring him back. Then I snapped Polaroids of it, and left my desk for another glass of wine.

I finished the bottle as the evening grew later, sitting at my kitchen table and staring at down it. Taking sip after sip of tart wine, until I watched the last few drops of crimson fall from the lip of the bottle and into my glass. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath, and drank it. I stood, feeling the world slosh around me, and made my way carefully to my room. I flicked on the lamp beside my futon and stripped off my shirt, not caring when it hit the floor instead of the hamper. Then I turned to stare in the full length mirrored closet doors, pressing my hands to the glass and letting my forehead fall against it with a soft thunk.

"You in there?" I asked, the words feeling thick on my tongue from the wine, and laughed softly. "Oh god. I fucked up, Ben, I never meant to fall for you. Never meant to tell you, and it... 'swas my burden, not yours. Was one of my rules, an' I broke it. No falling for... goddamn straight men. Regardless of fucking. But if you'd ever asked me... fuck, forget I said that. Fuck."

I sighed, and closed my eyes against the increasing feel of drunkenness. "You still there? 'm sorry, Ben. Come back. Don't leave again. Don't leave, Ben."

The cold shiver that ran down my spine was a sharp contrast to the feeling of drunken warmth, as was the tingle of sensation against my mouth. My eyes snapped open, and I straightened to find my reflection looking at me, fingertips pressed to his lips. He lowered his hand and gave me a soft smile - Ben's smile, not my usual lopsided grin.

"I'm sorry," I said again, only to see him shake his head. Then his hand moved, slowly but very deliberately, to cup his cheek, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. It felt warm, and vivid, and it was almost disorienting to see my reflection doing this, and feel it, but not to be taking the action myself. I wet my lips, watching him gaze at me intently, lips parted slightly. Then my reflection's fingers slipped back, stroking through my hair to almost rake across the back of my head, moving slowly down my neck, caressing - caressing?!

The shock cut through the haze of drunkenness. "What are you doing?"

He paused for a moment, then lifted his hand to my lips again, running the pad of his thumb over his lips slowly, then again. A tingling caress... like a kiss? I sighed despite myself. He smiled, an expression that was undoubtedly salacious, and I felt my pulse quicken in response. "What are you doing?" I whispered again, only to see his other hand move to his - my reflection's - shoulder, fingers curling around it, kneading gently, his eyes falling half closed in pleasure.

"Oh jesus," I murmured, and swallowed hard, feeling a shudder of arousal run down my spine. "You're going to molest me while I'm drunk."

He gave a visible laugh, and I echoed it despite the oddity of the situation. It wasn't like drunken molestations were anything new between the two of us. He smiled, and quirked an eyebrow, questioningly. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the hand on my shoulder gave a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"You don't have to do this," I said, only to see him shake his head again. His lips moved, something that looked like, 'I want to.' Or maybe it was 'I want you.' Either way, the look in his - my eyes - was so dark, so intent, that I drew a sharp breath between my teeth. Before I knew it, I'd nodded assent. I could never say no to Ben.

"I've lost it," I muttered, turning my back to the mirror, and felt a firm press to my lips in reply. I moved to the bed and started to undo my belt with trembling fingers, glancing back over my shoulder. My voice was rougher than I expected when I spoke again. "I didn't say I didn't want it too."

That was how I ended up stretched out on my futon, completely nude, watching my reflection - feeling my reflection - molest himself. He was hesitant at first, his eyes not moving from mine as he stroked his hands over his biceps - my hands, my arms. Too skinny, too wiry from years of working too hard and not eating right, but he didn't seem to care. My reflection's fingers lingered on my bicep, tracing over the tattooed band with a little smile, and I remembered vividly going under the needle with him at my side, getting his own band inked as I was. I saw a flash of a smile in my reflection, and then his hands moved down, rubbing slowly over my chest. If I closed my eyes, it was as if the hands were physically there, actually touching me, stroking over my skin, toying with, then pinching a nipple. It drew a soft moan from my lips, and I felt the hands on my chest tighten briefly. A shiver ran through me and I wasn't sure if the origin was me or him.

I opened my eyes to look into the mirror again, wondering if I was really as flushed as as he looked, lips parted slightly and eyes heavy lidded. His eyes opened fully again when they met mine, gaze darkening a little as one hand moved lower, smoothing over my stomach. His fingers traced down his thigh, and I watched them rub slow circles on the muscle there, caressing, teasing, making my half-erect cock jerk a little in response even in the mirror.

"Please don't tease," I heard myself half beg, and his eyes closed briefly at my words, lips parting in a silent moan. The knowledge of his pleasure was so intoxicating that I'd almost given in and reached down to touch myself before he did. I forced myself to hold back, and finally my reflection ran his fingertips up the underside of my cock, then cupped it, squeezing gently. The sensation was so unexpectedly real that my hips bucked off the bed in response, as if to encourage more. "Oh fuck, Ben - !"

He bit his lip, and I watched my reflection's fingers curl around his cock, stroking slowly from root to tip. I could feel what he was doing like I was doing it myself, but I so vividly knew that this was not me. This was how he'd always touched me, these long, slow, almost tentative strokes, fingers twisting fluidly around the shaft of my cock as he did. I felt more than saw the swipe of his thumb over my head, circling, teasing before returning to stroking, firm and slow.

As good as it felt, it was just as arousing to know that he was on the other end of this, doing this intentionally to please me. My fingers tangled in the sheets under me, clenching at the cotton, and by now I was almost achingly hard, shivering under the attentions of his fingers. "Jesus, Ben, that's good. Oh fuck, don't stop." I saw his other hand rest on my hip, squeezing my hipbone briefly as if to reassure me that he had no intention of doing so. Then it slipped between his thighs, and I felt him cup my sack and squeeze gently, toying with his fingers and tugging ever so gently. It made me absolutely wild, and before I knew it I was almost arching off the bed, writhing, trying to press into hands that only existed in the mirror.

My reflection's fingers were moving faster now, his touch warm and firm, sending pulses of pleasure through me with every stroke. He brought his free hand up to his mouth, and I mirrored him, groaning as I sucked hungrily at two fingers and saw my reflection do the same. It was no distraction from his touch, pleasure building hot and fast in my core, surging as his fingers coaxed me closer to release. His legs were bent, hips rocking just a little into his touch, and as I watched, he pulled one up a little higher. He moved the fingers from his mouth to press down between his - my thighs, stroking slick behind my cock, then back further, fingertips circling and tapping against the sensitive pucker, pressing against me. "God - Ben!"

Part of me wanted to close my eyes and just give in, but I didn't want to take my eyes away from the mirror, my breath in sharp gasps as the sensation surged. I bit down hard on my fingers and choked back a cry, unable to keep my eyes open as he pulled me to climax, continuing to work me even as ecstasy overwhelmed me, nerves singing with pleasure. Finally his touch slowed, and I forced my eyes open to meet his gaze, seeing my reflection as sated and breathless as I was.

He gave me a smile, sweet but exhausted. Then he relaxed, and I felt the soft shiver of loss run though me and knew he was gone.

I tried to catch my breath, mind reeling from what had happened. I couldn't help but wonder on his intentions, his motivations, but I knew that even if he'd stayed with me, I was far too drunk to make it to my office to see his answer to anything at all. It was easy to fall into sleepy exhaustion in the warm aftermath of orgasm, and I only just managed to stay alert long enough to wipe my stomach of with a couple of tissues before burrowing into my blankets. "I'll forgive you for rolling over and going to sleep," I murmured muzzily, then closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

~~~~


	3. Searching for a Solution

I slept late the next morning, waking up with a pounding headache, a goodbye gift from the overindulgence in wine. The memory of what I'd - what we'd done the night before came back to me like a tonne of bricks, leaving me very much wanting to crawl back under the blankets and not come out for a week. I staggered to the bathroom instead, taking a couple of aspirin and climbing into the shower.

When I came out of the shower, I found his words on the mirror. '_Come talk to me. - Ben._'

I rubbed a towel over my head and stared at the words, feeling a smile tug at the corner of my mouth unbidden. There was so many uncertainties, but it couldn't completely nullify the soft thrill I felt at remembering that he still wanted me, regardless of my revelation - he'd instigated that. As long as he didn't regret it....

I pulled on a pair of boxers and my robe, passing through the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. The timer on my coffee maker was still set to brew at my regular wake up time, and the half pot of coffee had been cold for a few hours. I poured myself a cup anyway, throwing in milk and sugar and sipping it as I went into my office.

He'd stolen my reflection and was seated at the desk with pen in hand before I'd even sat down. But for a long moment he merely looked at me, a little smile on his face that could almost be called wondering. Then he lifted a hand to cup his cheek, brushing his thumb against his lips, and I smiled at the gentle sensation of touch. "Morning, Ben."

I saw him give a soft, fond chuckle, then turn to writing. _'Sorry to pass out on you so quickly last night,"_ he wrote, smile a little sheepish. _'It was really tiring, keeping hold of you for that long. But it... was really hot, Larry. Are you okay?'_

"Just hungover," I replied, taking another sip of my coffee. "And also more than a little surprised that we... that you, um. Well, I'm not exactly sure what that was other than really great, but I... I thought you'd be freaked out by what I said." But then, I'd said it long before we started communicating like this, and he was still here....

I saw him give another soft laugh, and shake his head. _'No. It's... a bit hard to explain. But I'll try... I owe you that much._

I watched his lips press together, shifting in a very Ben-like gesture of worry. After a long moment of contemplation, he started to write again. _"You know how they say... when you have a near death experience, your whole life flashes before your eyes?_ There was a pause, and I nodded even though I knew he wasn't waiting for my response. Finally his hand moved again. _'Larry... when that happened, I only had one regret. I knew I'd done my best for my family, I even came to terms with the accident. My only regret was you, never telling you how I felt about you and how much you meant to me. That's why I started hanging around you, trying to help you. That's why last night... you know.'_

I felt my mouth go dry and swallowed hard. "So... have you appeased your regret, now? It was just something you needed to do to move on?"

He looked up at me sharply, stricken, and gave a sharp shake of his head. _'God, no. Larry, I slept next to you last night. It felt so... I haven't been so at peace with myself in a very, very long time. I wish we'd never grown apart. I wish I'd told you this so long ago. I was a coward. I'm so sorry.'_

I glanced away, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by his words. "Ben, you were married. And I was just as much of a coward as you."

When I looked back to the paper again, he'd written, _'I want to stay with you. I'll stay with you as long as you want me to, I'm just worried that... I'm hurting you by hanging around. I wish I could give you more than this....'_

I shook my head, wishing very much that I could reach out to touch him. "No. No, Ben, you... I don't want you to go. I can't... I can't accept a world without you, please...." I raised my head to look at him with a sudden surge of determination. "I'm going to get you out of there. I swear it, I'll find a way."

He gave a little sad smile. _'I've seen what getting out of here looks like, Larry, and it's not very nice. I don't think it's possible for me. As far as I can tell the human souls that were trapped here are just... gone. Set free to go wherever it is our soul goes when we die.'_

"But you're not dead."

_'Aren't I? Maybe I am.'_

I gave a sharp shake of my head. "You're not. Last night... there was nothing dead about that. I'm going to get you back."

I saw him give a soft laugh in the mirror, and his hand lifted to my shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze. _'Did it really feel so real to you? I liked watching you, I liked knowing what I was doing to you.'_

"It felt very real," I replied, feeling my pulse quicken at remembering. "You can do that any time you like, Ben."

_'If I get out,'_ he wrote, _'I'll do it for real. If you want me to. I still want to.'_

I managed to nod, reaching out to place my palm to the glass, looking up at him. "I've never stopped wanting you to."

He smiled, a little wondering, a little shy, and placed his hand on mine. More than anything I wished that I could see him as him, and not as my reflection. "I'm going to try and go see some people," I told him. "Occult researchers. There's a few in New York, maybe they'll know something that we don't. I might need you to do this to convince them I'm not nuts, do you think you can come with me?"

He nodded, and turned back to the paper. _'Yeah. Gotta go now, then. Talk to you later.'_

 

I'd had the small lists of names and phone numbers for weeks, compiled while I was still at the office. I'd never tried to make contact, though. Something in my mind saw it as the last step before descent into true madness. Well, if this was madness, then I was already well and truly insane now.

The second person on the list was a Doctor Merde, though I had suspicions that the title was appropriated. On the telephone he seemed all too willing to meet with a police office who was investigating supernatural deaths. I grabbed the Gary Lewis crime scene photos and a few other pieces of information. Almost as an afterthought, I grabbed the Polaroids of Ben's writing off my desk, then headed out to my car. "Hope you're with me," I found myself saying, though there was no response.

With nothing to focus on but driving, my mind slipped back to everything that had happened since last night, and most of all, what he'd written to me this morning. Suddenly I was looking at every memory of him differently, the new knowledge bringing a painful clarity to it all. How had I not known? He had cared for me. How had I been so blind as to deny it, to push away possibility of he and I ever being more than we were?

I reached my destination and parked, but stayed in the car, letting my head fall back against the head rest with a soft sigh. How different would things be now, if I'd gotten over myself and my fears and just told him how much I loved him so long ago? I couldn't begrudge him his marriage to Amy, not when the fruits of it were my godchildren. But if I'd told him when he came to me after he and Amy started having difficulties... maybe I could have supported him through the accident and the suspension. Maybe I would have never needed to refer him to that fucking job, and he'd still be here....

"Ben, I'm so sorry," I murmured, and ran a hand through my hair, feeling suddenly very tired. "This whole thing is my fault... the Mayflower, the - "

I felt a rush of cold, and a firm squeeze to my ass that made me yelp in surprise. I looked around quickly at the rear view mirrors, but he'd already gone. "Hey - that was my ass, you know. But okay, I'll try to stop guilting myself," I said. Then I grabbed my bag out of the back seat and headed up the walk to my appointment.

Doctor Merde was a surprisingly normal looking man in his sixties who had worked in pharmaceutical research before his retirement. He greeted me warmly, and we sat down in a well kept living room. "I'm a little surprised you've contacted me," he said frankly. "I've always assumed that you'd have your own experts."

His words confused me. "I'm sorry... we?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "I can sign a confidentiality agreement, if you want. Aren't you involved in some secret shadow branch of the government?"

I gave a soft laugh despite myself. "Like the X-files? I'm just in crime scene investigation, actually. And unfortunately this visit is more to do with a personal investigation than official police business. I'm sorry if I've misrepresented myself."

Merde looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "No, its no problem. Tell me about your investigation?"

I took the file folder from my bag and paused, well aware that what I was going to say sounded more than a little unbelievable. "I've read excerpts from your book," I started. "Spirits, ghosts and the world beyond ours'. Do you... believe in what you wrote about? The people you interviewed, the theories you created?"

He regarded me for a long moment before replying. "I believe there are similarities in supernatural experiences that correlate, that indicate that they very well could be real. I believe that the people I have interviewed are convinced of the reality of their experiences. I have not personally experienced anything supernatural, though I have a close friend who has. One of my interviewees, actually, though her name has been changed, of course."

"Of course," I echoed, staring at the folder.

Merde tilted his head slightly, glancing at the folder. "You don't believe in it, though."

"I didn't until recently," I admitted. "But I've since seen things... and unless I'm going insane, then this stuff is real."

He chuckled softly. "Police detectives are all the same, aren't they? Something happens and you look for a realistic explanation. Why don't you tell me about your investigation, Captain Byrne?"

I nodded and swallowed, then opened the file and handed him the Lewis crime scene photos. "They ruled his death a suicide. He slit his own throat with a piece of broken mirror. But if you look here...."

"No blood on the weapon," he noticed immediately, and I nodded.

"But in the reflection, it's covered in blood."

"You think he died because his reflection did?"

"Or that his reflection killed him."

He nodded slowly. "These photos could have been doctored. Did you see this in person?"

"No," I admitted, "but there would be no reason to do so. It was ruled a suicide, and blood splatter analysis indicates that there couldn't have been anyone else in the room with him."

"I'm not saying I disbelieve you," he told me, setting the photos down on the coffee table. "But people come up with photos like these all the time just to titillate others. Is this all your investigation is based on?"

I shook my head. "That man was a night watchman at the old Mayflower department store. The one with the explosion several weeks back. Doctor Merde, every person who has held that position has eventually ended up dead, and their families as well. They've been ruled as suicides or murder/suicides, no one's made the connection before now. I think there was something in the mirrors there that was killing them. The explosion happened when it got free."

Merde regarded me for a long moment, and gave a slow nod. "It's not a completely unbelievable theory," he replied. "So, assuming I buy into it, how can I help you, Captain?"

I took a deep breath. "I need to know how to get someone out."

"Out?"

"Of the mirrors," I explained. "The last night watchman, the one who put an end to the murders, he got stuck inside the mirrors. I need to get him out again."

"Have you tried an exorcism?"

"Jesus, no! Ah - sorry. No, he's not a demon, it's not a possession. And he's not dead."

He gave a little frown, but nodded. "What makes you believe that he's stuck in the mirrors?"

I swallowed, then pulled the Polaroids from the folder, handing them to him. "These can't be doctored, right? I've seen him. I've communicated with him. He can hear me, but he can't speak to me. But he can write."

He peered at the photos for a long moment. "If these are real, they're extraordinary."

"If they're real? They're Polaroid photographs."

"Of course, but this set up could be cleverly accomplished by using a piece of glass."

I resisted the urge to give a sigh of exasperation, setting the rest of my file on the coffee table. "Do you have a mirror I can use?"

"A mirror?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'll show you, right now. Bring a video camera if you want."

"All right," he said after a moment, and stood, taking a cell phone from his pocket. "Come with me, please." There was a long glass mirror in his dining room, running along the length of the wall. I turned with my back to it, watching him as he started recording with the phone. "What am I looking for?"

"You'll see," I replied, then glanced out around the room. "Ben?"

I felt a shiver run through me, and Merde jerked tense, taking a nervous step back from the mirror. "Astounding. How....?"

I glanced over my shoulder to see that my reflection had turned to the mirror and moved several feet away, standing with his arms folded over his chest. He glanced to me and gave a little smile, and I felt a surge of relief. Merde was seeing this too. I wasn't crazy, I wasn't just imagining all of this out of some heartbroken need to keep Ben with me. This was real, and he was really with me... which meant everything he'd said to me that morning was real, too. "He can hear us, but we can't hear him. The first time this happened it was only for a couple of minutes, but now he can stay with me for quite a while."

Merde was shaking his head slowly. "Can you move for me, Captain Byrne? Independent of your reflection? Can you walk in front of it and then move behind me?"

I glanced at Ben, who looked amused, then crossed in front of the mirror as requested, moving to stand behind he camera. Ben moved to stand where I had been, lifting a hand to his chin and brushing his lips lightly with the side of a knuckle. I felt it, and smiled.

Merde was talking rapidly at the phone, moving around the room to catch different angles, then opening the window and hanging the phone out, remarking about how the mirror was mounted on an external wall, how it was impossible to set this up as an illusion. Then my reflection gave a small wave, and I felt him leave, my reflection once again my own.

"Fascinating." Merde saved the video on his cell phone, shaking his head. "Truly remarkable."

"He can't stay for long," I tried to explain. "He says it's tiring. He's getting stronger though, it was only a few minutes the first time it happened."

"Or perhaps you are getting stronger," he suggested. "Has he told you if he's tried this with anyone else?"

I shook my head. "I don't think he'd want to, honestly."

"And this is the longest that your friend has controlled your reflection?"

I remembered the sex and forced back a smile. How long had that been? Ages, and yet it was over too soon. "Perhaps thirty minutes."

"I see. Well, I have to say, Captain Byrne... I have friends, I know people who say they can talk to the dead. But I've never seen a display of the supernatural like this. They would call you a very powerful medium."

"Fuck." I stared at him, trying to keep a look of disbelief off my face. "Look, I'm not a da- a psychic. And he's not dead."

He gave a little shake of his head. "Well, Captain, I'm afraid I can't help you - I've never heard of anyone getting a live person out of a mirror - or one being stuck there in the first place. But I can refer you to couple of people I know. Maybe they can help."

He gave me a list, made a few phone calls, and then I thanked him and went on my way.

~~~~

I talked to three more people that day - one scholar and two psychics, and Ben and I performed our little parlour trick when necessary, though his appearances grew shorter each time. None of them had any answers for me, however, apart from one of the psychics who tried very hard to convince me that Ben was what he called "the restless dead", and was only left on this "plane of existence" in an effort to complete unfinished business before he could reach nirvana. I wouldn't accept that - I couldn't accept it, couldn't bear the thought that he was only here to make amends and move on.

I returned home late in the evening, exhausted, and went straight to bed, assuming that Ben would be too tired to talk. "I'm not giving up," I murmured, curling up under my thick comforter and crisp sheets and burrowing into my pillow, comfortable in just my boxers. "Just need to think, just need to come up with a new plan. Or maybe keep bothering people until we find someone who doesn't look like they've just seen Jesus Christ when you move in the mirror."

I yawned, and felt a gentle caress on my cheek. "Mmm. Thanks, Ben. Get some rest, okay? You've done a lot today. Don't worry about me." The touch continued though, stroking down my neck and over my shoulder, the touch warm and gentle on my skin. I felt my pulse quicken despite myself, giving a soft sigh as I felt him pinch my nipple lightly. "Ben, you don't have to do this...."

Warmth pressed to my lips, a second caress to join the first, hands stroking over my chest, my stomach and sides. My body couldn't help but respond to that, to the shivers of pleasure it sent through me, and the heady knowledge of his hands on my body. "God, Ben... just don't wear yourself out.... jesus, that feels good...."

I shifted to stretch out on my back, accepting that this was going to happen, that I was going to let him do this to me again. That I wanted it. The room was dark apart from a slight illumination from the city lights outside, so I couldn't see what he was doing in the mirror, but god, could I ever feel it. I gave a soft moan at the touch of his hands on my thighs and shifted to kick off my boxers, the sheets cool against my quickly hardening cock. "Felt so good last night," I murmured, sighing as I felt one hand tease the base of my erection, the other on my chest, stroking, toying with a nipple with his fingertips. "Reminded me of before, when we were young. Made me remember when you used to climb into my bed and we'd stroke each other like this, or you'd let me suck you off... oh, god - !" I bit my bottom lip as I felt his fingers curl around my cock, stroking firm and agonizingly slow.

"Larry..." my name was hardly more than a breath, just a sigh, the same as it had always sounded on his lips in moments like this. I drew a shuddering breath, trying to arch up into his hands.

"Yes. Oh god, Ben, yes..." It was even more intense tonight, if that was at all possible, more real, his hands stroking me, working my cock, sending hot shudders of arousal through me. Perhaps it was the lack of alcohol. I let myself enjoy it unrestrainedly, feeling his fingers press to my lips and sucking on my own again, muffling groans of pleasure. When I felt his caress on my inner thighs it was almost disorienting, and I pulled my knees up to keep the illusion in tact, picturing his hands on my skin, pressing back between my legs, teasing me....

"God..." I couldn't help but push against it when his fingers rubbed against my ass, one slick fingertip pushing slowly, carefully inside me.... I drew a sharp breath at the sudden connection of this being done to me because he was doing it to himself, and the mental image of Ben fingering himself was almost enough to make me come. I wrapped my fingers around the base of my cock for a moment, squeezing hard, trying to calm down. "Oh fuck - Ben, you don't have to do this. Oh, god!" The penetration deepened, and my whole body arched tense at the sensation, my head thrown back on the pillows. I clenched my eyes shut as he began to pump the digit in me slowly, his other hand still stroking my cock. "Jesus, I wish you were fucking me right now...."

I felt him pull back, felt the penetration thicken, the pleasure and burn of it shuddering up my spine. The mechanics of it didn't matter, just what I was feeling, just what he was doing to me as he did it to himself, fingers pumping slowly, pleasing me. My cock was slick with pre-come, and I could feel his fingers whisper against the head of it, stroking slick and fast up and down the length of my erection, drawing me quickly closer to release. Then his fingers crooked, searching and unerringly finding that hot, sensitive spot inside me, sending hot shocks of bliss up my spine. "Fuck, Ben!"

My entire body was trembling from the stimulation, aching for the need to come, and it was all I could do to keep my hands clenched in the sheets, to stop from jerking myself off and coming just like that. I wanted him, I wanted to feel him pull me to climax like he'd done before.

"My lover..." the words were just a tease, just a whisper like before, but I knew for a certain that it was him. "Larry!" a helpless gasp, my name, and it was all I could handle. My hips bucked up off the bed and I came, sensation hot and bright, sizzling in every nerve. I could feel his hand stroke me through it, his fingers still crooked inside me and teasing against my sweet spot, coaxing shudders of sensation from me again and again before finally easing away and leaving me boneless and trembling on the bed.

"God." For a moment I couldn't do anything but pant, trying to come back to myself. His touch was a gentle caress to my thigh, and fingers that whispered gently across my lips. "I haven't come that hard in ages," I breathed into the darkness, and the hand on my thigh squeezed gently. I wiped the come off my chest with the already soiled sheet, rolling it up and kicking it down the end of the bed before turning on my side, exhausted.

"I'll change the sheets tomorrow," I mumbled. "No getting jizz on the comforter."

I felt a light, teasing smack to my ass, followed by the now familiar shiver as he left. Somehow, though, I still had a sense of him with me, and I could almost feel him curled against my back as I drifted off to sleep.

~~~~


	4. Making a Heaven or Hell

I felt relaxed and well rested when I awoke the next morning, and for a short time I stayed bed, wrapped in warmth and comfort. I still had no idea what I was going to do or how I was going to get Ben back, but there was a very strong feeling of peace, like everything was going to turn out all right.

Mind you, it could have just been that I'd gotten more sex in the past two nights than I had in over two months. I chuckled softly, finally getting up and grabbing my robe from the back of the bedroom door, headed to the bathroom. In the mirror, I thought I caught sight of a head of blond hair curled up in the mass of comforter on my bed, but when I looked closer, it was only a trick of the light.

When I left the shower, the only thing in the steam on the mirror was a large, slightly lopsided heart, and I smiled, tracing the outline with a finger and a soft feeling of wonder. I left it and pulled on clothes in my bedroom, trying to focus on a flicker of movement I'd seen in the mirror out of the corner of my eye, but finding nothing. Changing the bedsheets didn't take long, and after eating a bowl of cereal I poured myself a cup of hot coffee from the re-programmed coffee maker and settled down in my office at the desk.

My reflection cupped his cheek, giving me a soft smile, which I returned. "Morning, Ben."

His smile widened a little, and for a time he just looked at me. Then he picked up the pen, and I glanced down to find that he'd written simply, '_You're beautiful.'_

I snorted, taking a sip of coffee, but I couldn't keep from smiling. "Don't be ridiculous. How are you doing? Tired?"

'_I'm fine. Ready for another day of our dog and pony show?_'

I laughed. "Something like that. Maybe we'll find something useful today." I paused, watching him for a long moment, enough that he raised an eyebrow in query. "I think I heard you, last night," I said softly, and wet my lips. "Just a whisper, while we were... um. I know it wasn't me."

His eyebrows knit together a little. '_Interesting to know. I wasn't trying to get through to you, though I wouldn't even know how to... I was just focused on you._'

"I know," I replied, and smiled. "It was really good, Ben. I... thank you."

'_Anytime. I'll always be here. You know that._' He paused for a moment, pen hovering over the paper, looking up at me before writing again. '_Larry, if we can't find anything, if this is all there is, all we have... is that enough for you? Do you want me to stay?_'

"Of course I want you to stay," I said firmly, feeling a rush of despair at the thought of him leaving. "I - I need you to stay. Please. Even just like this - it's enough. It's still you." I felt a gentle caress on my hair, watching his fingers brush soothingly along my jaw.

'_I won't leave you,_' he wrote, and I could see, could feel the emotion behind his words. '_I promise. As long as you need me, I'll be with you._'

~~~~

 

The first two people I saw that day were, quite frankly, completely bonkers. One of them offered me a drag off his joint, and all I could was stare at him as he kept talking, wondering what part of "Police Captain" he hadn't quite understood. I excused myself as soon as I could.

In the afternoon I arrived at a third contact after a brief conversation on the phone. He had been one of Dr. Merde's referrals, who had simply shrugged and said, "He understands about this kind of stuff." When I knocked on the door, a young man answered, a rather good looking Asian. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm Captain Larry Byrne. I'm looking for a Mister..." I checked my list. "Shin Mur - "

"Call me Shin," he said with a little smile, pushing open the screen door. "Come in, Captain." Shin seemed different from the others that I'd talked to in that he didn't try to explain his own importance, simply listening to me as I once explained everything that had happened, who I'd talked to and what I was trying to do. I liked him, I decided. Beyond the fact that he was cute.

"Your story is very interesting," he said finally, when I'd finished. "And I believe you. But I'm curious... do you know what he wants, Larry?"

I hesitated, thinking over the conversations we'd had, over what he'd done, how he'd reacted to everything. "He... he just said he needed to be with me. That he'd stay as long as I wanted him to."

"I see. Is it because he needs you, or because you need him? Will it change your life, if you carry on as you have been? Effect your relationships?"

I gave a soft snort before I could stop myself. But there was something about the boy that made me open up when I normally wouldn't. Or maybe part of me knew that if I held back, it would only hamper my search. "What relationships? Honestly, I'm a cop. I eat, sleep and work. I just... I need him."

"I can see how important he is to you," Shin replied with a little half smile, leaning back against the couch. "It seems that whatever state he is in, he has become very strong by being around you. I imagine your house is a place that was important to him?"

Ben hadn't been to my apartment many times before the accident. By the time I'd bought it he was already married, and most of his time was spent with his family. But the times he'd been there... when he'd been tired and lost, when he'd been fighting with Amy.... I could almost count them on two hands, and I remembered them all vividly, our passionate, stolen embraces despite our guilt. "Yeah," I said, and smiled.

"Good," he replied. "If you are to retrieve him, it should be in a place that is powerful for him. Your home, or his, or the place where he crossed over first, if you have access to it. You haven't been able to find anyone else who knows of these mirrors? Has anyone come back?"

"No," I said, giving a little shake of my head. "Everyone else who was involved is dead, apart from...." I stopped, and suddenly everything came together in a moment of brilliant understanding. "His son," I realized, remembering what both Ben and Michael had told me. "His son was pulled behind the mirrors - through, um, a reflection over a dark hardwood floor covered by only half an inch of water. And Ben pushed him back out from the other side, through the water. Alive." I was already up off the couch, stuffing the folder with the pictures back in the bag, my mind racing. I barely managed to remember to shake Shin's hand, smiling at his little amused grin. "I think I understand. I think I know. I - Thank you. Thank you so much." With that I left, racing back to the Mayflower.

I parked my car on the street, pressing the buzzer beside the door in the boards that ringed the property. It took all my self control to wait, not to press the buzzer multiple times, and I tried to present a composed picture to the day security guard, Sapelli, when he answered the door. I flashed my batch. "NYPD, do you mind if I take a look at the site?"

He frowned. "Your people still have it all taped up, officer. They said they were done."

"I know," I replied. "I'm with crime scene. I just need to check a few details inside for a report so we can close up the case, it won't take long."

He frowned, but let me in. "All right. Just watch that you don't go in too far - the building isn't stable, it's still settling after the explosion. Come with me, I'll lend you a flashlight. Forgive me if I don't go in with you, I don't trust the building after two fires."

I nodded, glancing up at the window of the trailer as we approached it and freezing. I could see, very clearly, the reflection of three figures. "I can see you," I murmured, feeling my heart race at the realization.

"Excuse me?"

I glanced to Sapelli automatically, and when I looked back at the window, Ben was gone. But I had to be on the right track with this if I could see him, didn't I? "I'm sorry," I said, taking the flashlight from him. "Thank you."

Sapelli shrugged and disappeared back into the trailer, and I crossed the property at a jog, ducking underneath the police tape that roped off the door and letting myself inside.

The interior of the Mayflower was dark, and it took my eyes a few minutes to adjust as I moved through the front entrance toward the back of the building and the staircase that I remembered leading down to the lower level. It was a little easier to see as I moved farther back, with beams of sunlight filtering down through the dust from holes in the dome roof. I shone the powerful beam of the flashlight over the area as I slowly made my way downstairs. Most the rubble that I remembered from the rescue efforts was gone, hauled away with backhoes and trucks to an external site to safely search through for the remains of victims. I could think about that dispassionately now, without the heart-wrenching sense of loss I'd felt after the accident. Ben wasn't dead, he was with me. He cared for me.

"All right," I said out loud, more for his benefit than my own. I started down the staircase, wading out into the foot and a half or so of water that still sat at the bottom of the site. Ben had gone through the events of that night with me in detail, and I'd photographed the page of writing, inverted the image digitally, and studied it in detail over the past few days, trying to find a connection. "So you brought the nun in through the main entrance, past the mirrors and down here. Then you went through the flooded basement to the walled off room from the mental hospital. That would have been... there?" I tried to remember where I'd found the photograph on the day of the accident. There was still shards of broken tile under the water when I reached the area, and as I moved past it the flashlight caught glints of broken mirror, submerged.

Overhead something disturbed some of the roosting pigeons, and I raised an arm to shield my head as dust rained down into the water. I shook myself off, continuing to look around the area. "You strapped her to the chair, but they must have taken that away with the rubble. And then all the mirrors shattered, so the only reflective surface left...." I looked down at my submerged calves. The beam from the flashlight cast ripples of light on the remaining rubble that slowed as the water calmed, until I could see my own reflection clearly. "The water. The roof collapse pushed you in, pushed through to the other side. But how do we get you back?"

I looked around the shell of the building with a frown, hearing it creak and crumble as the building settled. I shook my head slowly, feeling the confidence I'd had slowly ebb away. And there was no sign of Ben.

"Come on, Ben," I murmured, and ran a hand through my hair, dislodging more dust. "Tell me what to do. Give me some clue. What if you submerge yourself? Can you get through?"  
There was no sign of him, though, no movement other than my flashlight on the water. My reflection on its surface was still mirroring me perfectly. Maybe the boy had been wrong after all, thinking he'd be strong here. Maybe I'd been wrong.

Finally I shook my head and started towards the second staircase, climbing carefully over the rubble. I could hear the remains of the second floor creaking above me, but I ignored it, lost to the despair my own thoughts. Maybe it was time to give up on this, to learn to live with Ben as things were now. But even with how good it was to have him with me, to know that he wasn't dead, the thought of never actually seeing him again was hard to take. Never being able to touch him, never feeling his lips on mine....

"Larry!"

The cry, unexpected, was enough to grab my attention. I froze, looking up to see the rubble crumbling. Then something under the water grabbed onto me and yanked, sweeping me off my feet. Caught off guard, I fell, the water closing over my head as everything went black.

~~~~

 

When I became aware of myself again I was cold, my clothes soaked through, but my cheek was warm from a gentle touch, a hand stroking me over and over. This wasn't Ben controlling my reflection, I realized with a surge of joy. This was his hand, his warmth. This was real. I tried to open my eyes and gave a breath of relief as the most familiar, longed for voice reached my ears.

"Larry?"

"God," I gasped, blinking my to clear my vision and struggling to sit up, reaching for him. "Ben!"

"Oh, thank god. Hold on - lay still. You might have hit your...." His hands were strong on my shoulders, solid, urging me back down to where I lay - on the basement steps, I realized, the water mere feet away.

I pulled him down to me though, wrapping my arms tight around his torso and clinging to him. It was so good to see him, to feel him warm and solid against me. "Oh god, Ben. Thank god, you're back, thank god."

"No," he whispered harshly, and pulled away, expression stricken as he looked down on me. Then he held up a hand - his right, and in the light filtering down from above I could see a jagged scar across his palm. "This should be on my left. I'm still behind the mirror. And you..." he faltered, staring at me, giving a little shake of his head. "At first I thought that I'd just moved your reflection somehow, that you were caught in the fall, that you might be... but you woke up here...."

I pushed past him and got to my feet, moving back to the surface of the water to stare down.

No reflection.

No... there it was. I could just see the light denim of my jean clad legs, trapped yards away under the fallen debris, half invisible under the water. "Oh god...."

"I tried to get to you in time when I saw the ceiling starting to crumble," I heard him say softly, behind me. "But I tripped on the rubble. I grabbed your ankle under the water and tried to pull you out of the way...." Ben gave a long, shuddering sigh, and even in the low light I could see the agony in his expression when I turned back to him. "I think - I think I pulled you through. God, Larry, I'm sorry."

"I'm on the other side of the mirror with you," I tried to take in the revelation. "Jesus...."

"It might not be too late," he said quickly, running down the steps into the water and sloshing towards the pillar. "Your reflection's still here, you can try and get back, try and get out alive."

Get back? The idea came with immediate revulsion. Go back to never being able to see him, to touch him? To have to communicate through a pen and paper? Go back to empty days of police work, without him by my side? "Ben." I followed him into the water and took his arm, pulling him back towards the steps. "I'm not going back. Not without you."

"I can't go back. But you - "

"I not going back," I repeated firmly, feeling a rush of relief, of calm move over me at the decision. Of peace. "Everything I need is right here. I'm staying here with you." I watched his mouth shift, anguished, and I lifted a hand to cup his face reassuringly, brushing his well shaped lips with my thumb. He was warm and solid and real under my touch, and I shivered at the feel of it. How long had it been since I'd touched him like this?

"No." Ben shook his head slowly and stepped back, pulling from my touch. "No - Larry, you can't. Not here, not with me. You can't - "

"Why not with you? Ben...."

"You don't deserve this," he said fiercely. "And you don't get it, Larry. This is it, this is forever. You don't go back now, you're stuck here. And you deserve a hell of a lot better than to be stuck here with me when all I ever did was use you - "

The words stung. "But you said you cared for me."

Ben gave a soft, helpless laugh. "Larry, I love you. I've loved you from the first time that I kissed you, maybe even before that. God, I wouldn't have even looked at Amy if I'd thought there was any way for us to be together."

It was true, I realized suddenly, thinking back on all the time we'd spent together. It was always me moving on, finding new boyfriends so that I wouldn't have to deal with my feelings for him. "I know," I said softly. "You asked me to stay twice, remember? I just...."

"Didn't think I meant it?" Ben asked softly, and I nodded.

"Couldn't believe that you'd want someone like me, that you'd want to give up marriage and a family for me." I met his gaze. "I'm sorry, Ben. Let me make up for it. Let me stay with you now."

"Larry, if you come to regret this, that's it. We're stuck here alone together, we - "

"I won't regret it," I cut him off with a little frown. "I thought you said you'd been watching me these past weeks? The only thing I regretted was losing you, and the only thing I'll ever regret is not telling you how much I loved you a hell of a long time ago."

"But if we're dead - "

"If we're dead," I repeated, "Then it's obviously up to us to decide whether to make heaven or hell out of this place. Isn't it? And if we're not dead, we can keep researching, keep trying to find a way back. Just... let's do it together, okay? We've spent so much time apart already."

Ben paused, then gave a slow nod. "Larry...."

"Shhh. It's all right. I want this, I promise you. I've never wanted anything more. I need you," I said softly, and gave him a reassuring smile.

Slowly Ben relaxed, the worried look leaving his eyes. He leaned in closer, not caring that we were still standing knee deep in water, stroking his arms around my waist and pressing his lips to my jaw. "I love you," he whispered, his breath in a shivering sigh against my skin. "I've always loved you, and I was such a coward.... God, Larry, I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," I murmured, heart pounding hard at his words, but he shook his head.

"Things could have been so different for us if I'd just pulled my head out of my ass - "

"Stop it." I pulled back to catch his mouth in a firm kiss, stroking my hands over his shoulders and pressing closer. "You weren't any more stupid than me. I should have seen it from the way you treated me. I just chose to deny it because I was afraid. That's having your head in your ass."

He laughed softly, beautifully, stroking his fingers through my wet hair. "I'll just have to make it impossible to deny," he said, voice low and husky, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.

"I'm looking forward to it," I managed to reply, trying to push away the surge of desire and wondering a little at the fact that he could still make me weak in the knees even after so long. "Lets get out of this place, okay?"

Ben nodded, pulling away but catching my hand in his, his grip warm and strong and sure. We made our way up the stairs together, and I wondered a little at how good it felt to do something as simple as walking hand in hand with him. He stopped at the entrance to the building, turning to face me and slipping a hand up to cup the side of my neck. "Larry... thanks for not giving up on me."

"I never could," I replied softly, and let myself melt into his embrace as he pulled me close to press his lips to mine.

It was a little strange, driving away from the Mayflower and seeing my car left behind in the rear view mirror. "So if we move things... does it effect their reflection, back in the real world?

"I don't think so," he replied. "I could only see proof of that when I was... talking to you. But anything we move that isn't touching us like clothes or food generally disappears or reverts within 24 hours." He chuckled softly. "As a result, I've gotten very good at hot wiring cars."

I laughed, feeling a surge of warmth as his hand moved to cover mine on the gear shift, giving it a light squeeze. We arrived back at my apartment building and I parked, taking him upstairs. It was a little strange, seeing everything reversed, and I automatically turned right towards my apartment when we stepped out of the stairwell, only to have him pull me to the left with a little smile. I chuckled again, unlocking the door and trying to adjust to the layout being reversed. "How have you been getting in and out of my place, anyway?"

"I had my keys on me when I went through the mirror, same as you," Ben said, slipping out of his shoes and looking around my apartment with a little frown. "We're not going to be able to stay here for long," he said worriedly. "When the real world figures out what happens, figures out that you're missing and assumes that you're dead or whatever, then whoever has to settle your estate, whoever you left stuff to...."

"My godchildren," I admitted with a little half smile, and saw him smile as well. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry I won't be around to take care of them for you, Ben."

He gave a little sigh, and shook his head. "It's all right. They'll have that man.... You know she's been seeing him for three years, Larry? Three fucking years...."

"Jesus, that's rotten. I'm sorry, Ben." I watched him, obviously still hurt and conflicted about it, but I couldn't stop myself from saying what I did in reply. "Makes me feel a bit less guilty for fucking her husband."

His gaze snapped back to me, startled, and then he gave a soft laugh. "Yeah. It does, doesn't it? Larry... god, I should have broken it off with her a long time ago, I should have made things right with you. I should have done right by you, and none of this would have happened...."

"Hey." I stroked a hand up his arm, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Enough of that. We're here now, aren't we? It's all I care about, Ben. I promise." I watched him relax again, and smiled. "So we'll stay here while we can. Then we'll find someplace else. Don't the five star hotels usually have a suite that they keep open just in case someone incredibly important comes to stay?"

Ben chuckled, looking thoughtful. "And what do we do when those famous people actually show up?"

I shrugged. "We eat their expensive food and sleep on the couch." I smiled then, catching his other hand and squeezing gently. "What's to stop us from doing anything? We could catch a plane to Fiji tomorrow if we wanted."

"But your home...."

I shook my head. "My home is with you. It's always been with you. Doesn't matter where we go."

He glanced away with a smile that was almost shy, reclaiming his hand to touch my face, warm and affectionate. "Maybe being stuck here isn't such a bad thing, after all. Not with you here."

I gave into the urge to kiss him again, stroking my fingers up into his hair. I couldn't help but wonder at everything, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of having him with me when I'd been so sure I'd never see him again, and certainly not like this. "We should get out of these wet clothes," I murmured, hands moving to unzip his sweatshirt and urge it off his shoulders. He gave a soft, appreciative noise, returning my kiss with an almost playful nip to my bottom lip, pulling off my jacket and tugging my t-shirt out of my pants. His hands slipped up under the wet fabric, surprisingly warm against the damp skin of my sides, stroking and teasing me just like he always had. It was so real, so familiar, and I kissed him more deeply, mapping the curves of his lips before tasting him. There was no mistaking his kiss, his strength and passion. This was really Ben.

"You're shivering," he murmured softly, a little worriedly, and pulled my shirt over my head. "Come on, get out of all this... come to bed and I'll get you warm."

I was, but it wasn't entirely from being cold. I managed a little smirk, wriggling out of my wet jeans and boxers and toeing off my socks. I glanced up to to find Ben watching me with a soft smile, and he reached out to trace the line of my hipbone with his fingertips, his hand warm as it smoothed up my side, his eyes moving over me slowly. It made me feel slightly self conscious, and I sighed as he pulled me closer to press a soft kiss to my collarbone. "I'm not a fit young cop anymore, Ben...."

"And you think I am? You think I care about that?" Ben's kisses trailed slowly up my neck, and I tilted my head back with a soft sigh, drinking in the touch. "Larry... all I need is you. All I've ever needed is you." His lips closed over my earlobe, sucking gently tugging at it with his teeth. His hands smoothed around my waist, then down to cup my ass, and the throaty tone of his voice sent a shudder of arousal down my spine. "You turn me on more than ever."

I swallowed, nuzzling his damp hair as my fingers pulled his t-shirt up, stroking hungrily over bare skin. It was almost unreal to hear Ben saying all the things that I'd longed to hear for so long, but it was so very, very good. I drew his shirt off over his head, then pressed my face to his neck, breathing in deep of the warmth and scent that my mind had never forgotten. "I am so fucking in love with you," I murmured, shivering at the words I'd never dared to admit to him like this before. "I always have been, Ben."

Ben's arms tightened around me, and I felt a shudder run through him. "Me too, Lar." I felt his sigh on my skin, a trembling kiss pressed to my jaw. "Oh god, I love you." He caught my mouth with his own, then, warm and trembling and yearning, and it was like all the emotion I'd held back and denied for almost twenty years had all come crashing down onto me now. I could feel myself trembling, kissing him again and again, gasping for breath when our lips parted. Moaning his name against his lips and craving more, wanting to hold tight to him and never let go.

His jeans were still damp, cold against my skin, and I forced my hands to stop their caress of his bare back to reach between us and tug them undone. He freed a hand to help me, fumbling wet jeans and boxers down over his hips and kicking them off. "So ridiculous," he muttered, and I glanced up, questioning.

"Ben?"

"Oh - " He gave a soft laugh, as if just realizing he'd said it out loud. "I just - sorry. I feel like a damn virgin, and I don't even know why. We've been fucking for - god, almost twenty years, Larry."

I couldn't help but smile, though I knew what he was talking about. I felt the same mix of trembling anxiety, with need and desire. "I know. It's all right, come on," I said softly, and tugged him towards my futon. It was easier, when we were curled together under the thick comforter, and we warmed quickly, relaxing to yearning kisses and gentle touch. I couldn't get enough of the way he felt against me, the warmth of his skin under my hands, and I finally urged him to lay over me, revelling in security of his weight against my body. We rocked together slowly, and he pulled back just a little to look at me, leaning on one forearm beside my head, his expression almost wondering.

"Thought I'd never have this again," Ben murmured, and I reached up to kiss him, stroking my fingers through his hair.

"I know," I replied, voice catching in my throat. I gave a low groan as his hips rocked a little more firmly against mine, his erection hard and hot against my own, pressed to my stomach. "Oh god, Ben... I need you. Please."

"I love you," he murmured again, shivering as if it brought just as much physical pleasure to say it as what we were doing. He reached to pull open the drawer of my bedside table, grabbing the bottle of lube and pausing with a plastic wrapped condom in his fingers.

I reached to take it from him and tossed it back in the drawer. "Leave it," I murmured, catching his mouth again. "Don't need it if you don't. I want to feel you...."

"Oh god, yes." Ben's kisses were hungrier then, and I shifted to let his slick fingers press between my thighs, pushing against them almost impatiently as he started to work two fingers into me carefully.

"Need you," I gasped, returning trembling kisses, unable to hold back whimpers of pleasure as his fingers twisted in me, working me just so, knowing so well how to make me gasp and squirm. My hands clenched at his back almost desperately, hips bucking up against his fingers, my cock straining, craving more sensation. "More. Jesus, Ben - please..."

"Shhh..." Ben kissed the corner of my mouth, lips moving along my jaw and down my neck, sucking at my throat as he worked another finger into me, pumping slowly into me. "Always going to be here," he murmured. "Make up for all the times I should have been. I promise."

I claimed the lube from where he'd dropped it, watching him as I slicked it over his cock, stroking him slowly. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before meeting mine, dark and intent. Then he pulled his fingers away, shifting between my thighs as I pulled them up on either side of him, letting my eyes fall closed to savor the sensation as he slowly rocked into me. "Oh god, Ben...."

When I opened my eyes again, Ben looked as overwhelmed as I felt, and I drew him down to me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and kissing him, slow and deep. The feel of him was exquisite, thick and hard and hot, and I could feel every inch of him press inside me, my body stretching to accommodate the familiar girth. He was shuddering - or I was, or both - and I arched up against him, lost in how good it all was to have him over me and inside me and all around me.

"Love you," I gasped, groaning as he rocked slowly in me, at the drag of his skin against sensitive nerves, the brush of the head of his cock just so inside me as he moved. "God, Ben... so good!"

He gave me a warm smile in agreement, dropping soft, breathless kisses against my mouth as he began to move faster. Each thrust brought a flood of sensation, the feel of his cock moving deep inside me as we moved together with a familiarity born of years of exploring each other's bodies. We connected with a burst of white hot sensation that added to the pleasure of my cock pressed against the firm warmth of his stomach, rubbing against him as coupled. Ben held my gaze with an intensity that I realized he'd always had, that I'd been too afraid to acknowledge, and it made me feel everything more vibrantly than I'd ever thought possible. I returned his gaze, revelling in the intimacy, in sharing emotion that was beyond anything I could put into words.

Ben dropped his head, forehead pressed to mine, his body shuddering, thrusts harder, more erratic. "So perfect," he gasped, and worked a hand between us to stroke me, each thrust driving me into the heat of his fingers. I choked back a cry, clenching around him at the increase in sensation, trying to hold back and savor it, riding the edge of a powerful orgasm. "God, Larry - " his groan was almost helpless, eyes falling closed. "Come on, love. You're so close, let me feel you. Let go, love..."

"Ben - !" I couldn't do anything but give in, bucking up against him with a throaty cry as the sensation and his words pulled me over the edge. I let my head fall back, my body tense and shuddering as waves of pleasure took me, holding him to me, my fingers clenched tight on his skin. Ben's cry echoed mine, choked and overwhelmed, and I felt him spill inside me, hot and slick as he thrust through his climax.

For a long moment we held tight, and I kept my calves pressed tight against his back, loving the feel of him still inside of me as we slowly came down. I always had, needing the extra few moments to prolong our intimacy. Then I realized in a rush of relief and joy that things would never be like that again. There would be no more hiding, no more pretending that we didn't have feelings for each other. No more watching him go back to a wife that only hurt him when what I wanted most was to take that all away. I could do that. He'd be here with me every morning and every night.

Ben was nuzzling my neck, dropping soft kisses along my skin. "You're amazing," he whispered, kissing just under my ear. "Always thought so. God, Lar, thank you for this."

"It is perfect, isn't it?" I mused, nuzzling his hair, letting his words wash over me, warm and beautiful.

"It is," he agreed, pulling back to meet my gaze with a warm smile. The stress and worry I'd gotten so used to seeing in him was gone, and it made me remember suddenly the first time I'd seen him, when we were young and carefree. He brushed his lips against mine tenderly, then eased away, disappearing into my bathroom long enough to return with a warm washcloth. I was all too happy to let him fuss over me, watching him with a little fond smile as he chucked the cloth through the bathroom door and curled up around me. "So... Fiji?"

"If you like." I chuckled softly, leaning in for a warm kiss. "I think anywhere we go we'll end up staying inside a lot for the next little while, if you catch my drift."

Ben gave a low laugh that sounded very appreciative. "Mm, definitely. Hell of a lot of things I want you to do to me...."

His choice of words perked my curiosity, but I didn't question it, certain that he'd reveal more of what he was thinking when he was comfortable. "Sounds perfect. We could even fuck on top of the Eiffel Tower, you know. Just saying."

Ben's laughter was contagious, and he wriggled closer to me. "If you like. God, you know I've never even left the States? I kind of feel like I've suddenly retired with no need for money and the sexiest man alive at my side."

"And we're still young enough to enjoy it," I replied, and gave a soft, pleased hum against his mouth as he kissed me again. It didn't really matter if this was death or life, I decided. This was definitely heaven.

~~FINISH~~


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